


The Knack of It

by PrinceofHellebore (PrinceofPlants)



Series: The Lotus Hair Pin [2]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofPlants/pseuds/PrinceofHellebore
Summary: Oscar catches Zolf staring and wonders how far he can push it.  Even Oscar is surprised by the results.Oscar's POV from The Lotus Hair Pin
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: The Lotus Hair Pin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026370
Comments: 13
Kudos: 75





	The Knack of It

The air was heavy with summer rain and was tropically hot even in Oscar’s office. He’d been given a yukata by the innkeeper. It wasn’t perfectly sized for him but fit well enough and was considerably more comfortable than even his lightweight summer suits. It had taken him several days to learn to tie the wide cloth belt but he had done it admirably well this morning. The only thing that he wasn’t fond of was that the hem landed at his mid shin and exposed the pair of cuffs that sat just above his ankles, but alone in his office there was no one to see. 

His hair, longer now than when it had been shaved off, clung damply to the back of his neck. Weeks ago he’d also been gifted a narrow ebony stick, the end carved into a lotus flower, by the young daughter of the innkeeper. It had been during a period when the other three were away. The young girl had taken a fancy to him when he'd written her a story about a giant and a garden. After he had recited it to her, she had disappeared and returned with the elegant little stick. She'd even shown him how to use it to tie his hair up and away from his face and neck, in the same style she wore hers. He’d been grateful but hadn’t put it to use yet for any length of time. Oscar reached a hand under the sodden locks at the base of his neck and lifted. Even that made him feel so much cooler. He took the hair stick from where it lay amongst his collection of pens and deftly twisted his hair into the requisite knot and secured it. It helped but the atmosphere was still stifling. He wondered if it might be better elsewhere. Perhaps a breeze had been coaxed into the main room. 

Oscar picked up his paperwork, some new from the connection he shared with Curie and the rest old references or ciphers that he was still trying to break. He walked down the hallway to the main room of the inn. The only people present in the early afternoon were his team. The sliding doors that led out of the building were open and the air was as still and oppressive here as it had been in his office. “Ah, it’s barely any better out here.” Oscar said by way of announcing his presence. The three of them looked up. 

“It’s not better anywhere except the cell.” Carter lounged opposite Barnes at a low table. There was a gridded board with a collection of black and white stones arranged across the middle of it. Go was another thing that they had borrowed from the innkeeper. Barnes and Carter were the only ones that had really taken an interest in the game. Carter continued, grumbling slightly, “and even if it was as brisk as an English autumn down there I wouldn’t be interested in spending another moment in it.” 

Oscar sighed at the idea of a frost laden breeze on the streets of London. Sweat dripped gently between his shoulders. He frowned and walked over to stand above the table. He glanced at the board and then knowing little of the rules and nothing of the strategy said, “oh not there,” as Carter laid a piece. Carter shook his head and left the piece where he had put it.

Barnes glanced up briefly, frowning. “Don’t help, I might not lose this time.” 

“Fine.” Oscar held up a placating hand and left the pair to wage their game and went to the opposite side of the room near where Zolf sat with his legs stretched in front of him, book in hand. They made eye contact and nodded politely to each other before Zolf’s attention returned to his novel. Oscar knelt at a second table and spread his stack of paperwork across it’s surface. He glanced momentarily at Zolf again. He had a gentle smile on his face as his eyes scanned across the page, one hand held the book open while the other was spread on the floor propping him upright. The sight put Oscar in mind of sitting on the green at uni reciting poetry and exchanging quips with friends. That was a different and far away world. There was quiet then save for the mutters of Barnes and Carter and the clinking of stones placed and removed from the board as they vied for advantage and victory. From nearby there was only the sound of papers turning and the nib of his pen setting down words. 

Oscar lost himself in the work. It was easy to sift through the piles of notes, lay disparate reports side by side to glean the absences that might reveal the actual truth. He shifted his position as his legs fell asleep below him. In a moment of stillness, a second lock of hair slipped from his bun and he absently reached up and redid the knot, slow and distracted by his reading. Then having reached upwards he fussed with the wide strange sleeves until they sat comfortably over his forearms once more. Zolf had moved, the arm holding his book lowering slightly, his head turning. Oscar only caught the movement from the corner of his eye and when he glanced up Zolf had focused again on the novel. 

A moment later Oscar scratched at the sweat-damp curls that tickled his neck and then took the stick from his hair again. He didn’t look at Zolf but took careful note that Zolf had looked at him again. Oscar considered teasing him about it but knew Zolf would deny it. Instead he shook his hair loose and then carded it back again. Now that it was long once more he missed the sensation of others playing with it. But there was no chance of that here. 

Zolf had stopped staring but was so still that Oscar thought he must still be paying him attention. Oscar saw no harm in conducting a small study of Zolf’s reaction. He spent the next several minutes fussing first with his hair and then his sleeves and then the stick again. Eventually he snapped the stick onto the table in a fit of faux pique. The noise startled Zolf enough to make him aware that he had lost his place in his book in order to watch Oscar preen. Oscar watched Zolf fold his legs in and then sit hunched, attention wrestled back to Cambell with a sigh.

Oscar didn’t relent just because he had lost his audience. Instead he fussed first with the hair hanging in his face and then the collar of his robe which just wouldn’t lay the way he liked and then his sweat damp hair again.

He was careful never to look directly at Zolf, his eyes instead roving over his paperwork but he took careful note of if and how he was distracting Zolf. After a minute or so longer Zolf slipped something into his book and set it down. He stood and walked past Oscar. All of this Oscar pointedly ignored so as not to give the game away even if he was sure that it was over now that Zolf was leaving. 

And then there was a presence behind Oscar and Zolf leaned past his shoulder to pick up the hair stick in his thick fingers. Oscar had no idea what Zolf planned, perhaps he’d stab him for the annoyance he’d carried out the last quarter hour. But then Zolf’s other hand closed gently across the back of his neck and swept Oscar’s hair up. Oscar had to stop himself from freezing, from giving any notice at all because it would surely break whatever was happening. Zolf combed his hair back, his fingers dragging against Oscar’s scalp. It was all Oscar could do not to shudder. His fingers pinched the page he was holding and he carefully set it down again. 

Oscar pretended to continue his work but now he was the one thoroughly distracted from his task. Zolf didn’t get the twist right the first time. Oscar dragged his hand across the page, making meaningless marks in his notebook. Zolf’s fingers were again collecting up the locks that had escaped his first attempt, their tips brushed across Oscar’s cheeks and ears, tenderly, burningly. Oscar could feel their path linger on his skin. The second knot was also fragile and loose. Zolf undid it and went back to carding his fingers through Oscar’s hair. Oscar sighed, he’d had no idea he could have this from Zolf, no idea that it was what he was after. The third attempt was tight and correct. It held and disappointment rose in Oscar. He turned and looked at Zolf. There was a flush in Zolf's cheeks and he wore a startled expression, hands still hovering near where he had just let go. 

Wilde looked at Zolf over his shoulder. “Thank you, Zolf, I’d not found the knack for that.” He said, voice quiet and devoid of the amusement that Zolf expected though his eyelashes had flickered in something suspiciously close to flirtation.

Zolf nodded, “no problem.” He found it unbearable to remain in the room after this… had it been a mistake? because he didn’t think he regretted it. Zolf reached for an easy excuse to leave, “I think it’s about time I started to cook dinner.” He scooped up his book and left for the kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight his heart started pounding. Zolf wondered if Oscar, private and aloof as he had been all this time, would allow that same intimacy again. He hoped so.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Love,  
> Prince of Hellebore


End file.
